


I'll Always Have You (Just Like A Tattoo)

by Tokine



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:54:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokine/pseuds/Tokine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>aka the tattoo parlor au you didn't know you didn't want</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Always Have You (Just Like A Tattoo)

Priests that side as tattoo artists are hard to come by. As a result, he doesn't begrudge Henry for his unofficial motto for the parlor, "Where you can get a confession and an inking session," despite the fact it doesn't necessarily make complete sense and is really a stretch to rhyme. Despite the terrible puns (seriously, the fascination with crows) and alacrity to stick a needle into someone before the pain medication kicked in, Henry truly was a talented artist, and Libra knew the customers who frequented his parlor had seen stranger people anyway. So he went on, groaning at most of the boy's jokes and even laughing at a few, and with his help the business grew. They expanded enough to buy a couple cots in the back, for when the drunk ones came in and demanded some ridiculous tattoo. Libra would rather let them sleep it off and decide if they really wanted what they said they did in their intoxicated state than just ink them with dubious consent. Inking was such a personal experience for Libra, and he wanted to make sure everyone else received similar treatment. Oftentimes, Henry's unofficial motto was absolutely true, with Libra murmuring soft words of reconciliation while he carefully maneuvered his needle. Despite the life of priest being something he couldn't follow, he truly was gifted at his job. Blessed, many would say, and Libra could only find himself thankful to give others joy in some way.  
  
It’s definitely not the steadiest business to be in. While many come and go, the two men had built a small following for themselves over the years, and they’d cleaned up the storefront to look as respectable as their small stretch of money would allow. They peaked during the summer, and spring, the warm months causing more to show some skin off and the new art on it. Those were the days of prosperity, when the cots were purchased and quickly taken advantage of by Libra and Henry once the long night of work was done. They’d each nap, taking turns cleaning the windows and sweeping the floors, with Henry’s current music obsession playing in the background, which constantly cycled through punk rock, classical, and something that made Libra crinkle his nose that Henry cheerfully referred to as k-pop. Those summer nights were the ones Libra loved, falling asleep watching his goofy partner attempt to waltz with a broom. It’s when winter comes and the draft always seems to sneak its way through the heavily caulked door in the back that no one ever uses, that the dark days always come. It seems just when the heat, rent, and electricity bills pile up that no one wants their services, and the two artists had seek out winter jobs. This year, though, no one was hiring and their rent was piling up. Their savior came in the form of a dark eyed beauty named Tharja with a terrible potty mouth that makes Libra’s internal priest wince a little. She’s much more popular than the two of them, however, and her rather endowed assets also had a strong admirer base of their own. After a few misunderstandings, including a rather intoxicated man commending an oblivious Henry for scoring a job with ‘two lovely ladies’, Libra is both thankful this newcomer could take care of herself but is also a little frightened as well. The only personal effect Tharja allowed herself was the framed photograph of what appears to be a sixteen year old girl scrutinizing a dusty book, her furrowed brow and the unfamiliar symbols on the cover alluding to the suspected difficulty of the text. When asked, the only answer forthcoming was a frosty glare. It’s a bit of work to get used to her, but Tharja had refined her art with diligence and had a certain knowledge of people’s hearts and desires, and despite the harsh words, Libra knows she’d never dream of using her knowledge against anyone. Henry takes well to her, and spends his breaks endlessly questioning her techniques. She’s all technique based, while he flings the needle around with reckless abandon, and these interrogations of Tharja are constantly turned onto Henry as she tried to figure out just where he learned to ink in his unique style, not taught in any of the books she’s read. Yes, she fits in well to their happy little family, and once again they’re saved from bankruptcy and the warmer months come again.

  
  


Love seems to walk into one’s life when it is needed the most, and in Libra’s case she stumbled right into his shop, which could very well be considered his life at this point. After gasping out what must have been a thousand apologies that appeared directed at both the sidewalk she stumbled over and the door she fell into, the girl stepped inside the shop. Looking just as beautiful and wonderful as the little sister Tharja had been uncharacteristically gushing about for the last hour, the girl greeted the three artists with a cheerful howdy and sat down in Tharja's chair. Talking animatedly about what sounded to be a cute dog she got to pet on the way over here, Libra spared a glance from his current sketch to be awed by the annoyance that always seemed etched on Tharja’s face fall away into gentle adoration. All the sudden, he wanted to set aside his design and just draw, and talk to the girl who could inspire joy in such a way that it seemed to radiate. How the dark haired artist had ended up with such an adorable sister that seemed to have the exact opposite personality, Libra did not know. 

  
  


The girl, who's name he later learned was Robin, had taken a shine to Henry as well. She laughed at all of his jokes, and was decidedly unaware or uncaring of the morbid aura he radiated. Due to the constant presence of her in the parlor, from her dropping off the lunches she made for Tharja that the artist would reverently eat every piece of, of her stopping by just to chat, and to the time she spent just with her nose in a book, inviting customers in with her warm aura, Libra too had taken to talking to her. Despite whatever seemed to happen that day- he garnered from Tharja that the two girls hadn't exactly had the happiest life growing up, she was always smiling, ever radiant, and endlessly interested in everyone she met. He'd taken to calling the girl sunshine, as everyone, human and animal alike, seemed to relax under her warm gaze. Even Libra's most gruff and oldest customer, Lon'qu, would sit with her even after his tattoo was finished. It was no small wonder either, for as the two got off to a rough start with Lon'qu's fear of women and Libra's feminine appearance, but once the misunderstanding had been cleared up they'd grown from acquaintances to friends, the retired military officer gone cook at the local German restaurant (his potatoes really were out of this world- Libra had sampled and discussed countless ones baked, mashed, and scalloped, and none could really compare) enjoying the atmosphere of Libra's shop. To see him, who'd received his worst scars mentally and physically from women, relax with this one would've startled Libra unless he'd known the girl.  
  
But too much sunshine was dangerous, and it was the very same with Robin. The space where she used to be was distinctly empty hours after she was gone, and the shop became over reliant on that smile drawing people in. Libra worked better when her chatter was in the background, and his designs just seemed less inspired when their sunshine wasn’t around. Robin had even taken to staying after closing, insisting on taking her own turn sweeping and cleaning while the artists napped, and exchanging gossip with whoever was cleaning during their shift. Even Libra, the earliest riser and the last to retire, had never actually seen Robin sleep. He’d supposed it was just another quirk she’d picked up during those years of childhood, and never thought to question her on the topic. Despite the girl’s seeming willingness to share everything, he knew all too well enough when to let the past stay in the past.  
  
The dark days came again, and this time with a vengeance. Libra had been forced to raise his prices again, something he hated doing, and even Lon’qu only came once in a blue moon, secretly confiding in Libra of his financial distress. Libra shared this very same fear, and watched less and less customers trickle in his shop as the days shortened and the snow began to blanket the ground. It didn’t help that Robin was making herself scarce as well. Even Henry realized the position they were in, and none of them could bear to ask the question of if they would make it through the winter. But Libra was not one to go down so easily, and so he merely increased his prayers to Naga, and if he skipped a few meals just so they could afford to stay open, who could judge?

  
  


It's time to get his hair cut, Libra thinks. Locks of Love will need it, and truly he could use a few less comments on his effeminate appearance from the rare newer customers. Patience was the one virtue that Libra was lacking but endlessly seeking. But he'll put up with it if it's for the children that he loves and adores. With business being as sporadic as it is, he has to spend his time waiting around the shop instead of visiting the little ones at the hospital. He's not quite a volunteer, but he likes to think he's helpful when he's around. Libra likes that the children scream with joy when he's arrives, and they climb up on his strong arms and use crayons to try and color in his tattoos. He's really a walking jungle gym, and the nurses appreciate the quiet, heavily inked man that will play will the children and lift all the heavy objects that need to be lifted. Libra was especially proud when he saw a little one running around with a wig of his hair on, and when she puts together the pieces (Nah was always a clever one, after all) he was swept into a big hug. The children taught him how to touch again, with their little fingers and wide toothy smiles, and not to flinch every time fingers brushed a certain scar on his neck. Libra’s endlessly thankful, and what better way to repay them then over and over again, as many days of the week as his work schedule would allow? Maribelle ushered him out as the visiting hours ended, the only nurse with every ringlet in place despite the relentless work day. She truly should have been born a princess, her tact and grace unrivaled by the many Libra had met in his lifetime. Despite this, Maribelle truly was a softie as well, her sternness overshadowed by an innate need to protect, and more than once before he’s taken children on their strolls around the hospital grounds, he’s seen her procuring hand knit hats and mittens from her bag. He’d even received his own set around Christmastime, along with a scarf, the color matching his very first tattoo that he’d acquired on his neck, and he was so struck by the profound care and love she seemed to have that he nearly could not produce the words to thank her. She’d acknowledged it with her usual insistence that she was just doing her job, but he couldn’t help but notice her chocolate brown eyes making sure he’d put them on before leaving or ever taking the children out. After that day, the scarf became part of Libra’s daily wear, and it was almost impossible to coax it off of him even in the sticky heat that came with summer. The hospital really was his home away from the tattoo parlor, and some days he really wasn’t sure who was doing who a favor by him coming there. Regardless, as the pulls on his hat and takes his leave for the evening after wishing all of the children sweet dreams and administering a kiss to the head of the hospital’s pet rabbit Yarne, Libra decided to cut his hair again today. When he got to Chrom’s Cuts, Cherche regretfully informed him that his usual, Olivia, wasn’t there today, but there was a newer recruit that apparently had a way with the scissors. How he had missed seeing Robin in the back there, with her candy pink hair and bright smile? She cooed over his hair in an altogether embarrassing fashion, and the soft snipping of the scissors as she chattered in the background was serving quite well to loosen the tightness in Libra’s shoulders, until she had to make to make the mistake of running her finger along that one spot on his neck. A half formed question on her lips was silenced by the frigid countenance the affable man had taken on. He normally wasn’t picky, but he liked Olivia. Libra liked the timid girl who asked very few questions and was content to do her work in amicable silence. He didn’t bother to reprimand Robin, nor even reassure her the mistake was genuine and that he was far over the ones who’d left him behind. No, there was no fixing the atmosphere so thick that Libra had trouble breathing in. Taking on an air of professionalism, the haircut was finished shortly in a stony silence. She’d rushed to the back before the scissors even hit the bottom of the drawer, and Libra had been resigned to slipping a few notes of currency in the drawer before paying and walking out. Storming out into the alley, Libra slammed his fist into the closest brick wall, unaware of the attentive eyes that caught his form and immediately retreated. If he hadn’t been so worthless, is parents wouldn’t have left. It truly was his fault. And now the business he’d worked so hard to establish was losing profit steadily, and he was taking Henry and Tharja down with it. All he could do was hope they’d scrap together enough money for him to pay them at the end of the week and to scratch together a farewell dinner. His mind wandered on, and it was only as his fingers reached for the familiar handle that he realized he’d found his way back to the tattoo parlor again. Tired eyes and a mind hazed with grief didn’t even realize Robin was sitting in Tharja’s chair and sobbing until she’d ran out on him for the second time within the hour. He waited for the inevitable blow from Tharja, still in disbelief at his situation. Naga had helped pull him out of every struggle he’d encountered, and here he was, fully grown, but as helpless as he was a child. It was as if he’d never learn from the mistake he’d made as soon as he was born. And now even Tharja had a sad smile and Henry’s not cracking jokes, and he knows. Libra knows they know that they’re going down, and all he can do now is work hard and hope Naga spares them her kindness just one more time.

  
  


The next time he sees Robin, his parlor isn’t his anymore and he’s delivering greasy pizzas and constructing buildings. Libra’s no stranger to poverty, but it hurts just the same to return to the days he desperately wished he’d outgrown. He’ll skip a meal, or ten even, and every hour of sleep that wasn’t vital to his basic health needs if it meant the two staying at his apartment could continue their studies. Tharja’s thrown herself into her books with a passion, after receiving a severe tongue lashing and probably the first hug from anyone besides her sister when Tharja came home at two in the morning, thoroughly drained and bills stuffed in certain areas he’d rather not mention. Libra had strictly forbidden her and Henry from that point on from engaging in any work that would jeopardize their health, physical or mental. Henry found himself spending his daytime hours busing tables and his nighttime ones working at the convenience store downtown, sketching whenever the store was empty. Tharja worked at the same restaurant cooking, and after swearing up and down to Libra and an uncharacteristically stern Henry that she’d never work nights that way again, spent them doing freelance writing and reading whatever she could find to refine her style. It wasn’t enough, but there was food on the table, and there was prospect of putting aside money so Henry and Tharja could go back to school. Libra thoroughly denied himself any leisure, and forbade himself from seeing the kids at the hospital. He couldn’t even bring himself to face Maribelle, such was his shame, and he alternated between worrying about the children and reassuring himself they were safe in her hands. His life was a constant state of work and worry, and he had no time to worry about the haircutter with a wayward interest in something that belonged firmly in the past. He’s unconscious for the few hours he spends in the apartment, and he knows the fading picture of the girl is tucked firmly under Tharja’s pillow and out of his sight anyway. Libra knows the night will be an odd one when his pizza deliveries bring him around to his old neighborhood. It’s two in the morning though, so it’s almost easy to drive by the abandoned tattoo parlor without sparing it a second glance or a reliving a memory through the window, of meeting Lon’qu perhaps or the girl who sat by the window and studied and smiled. He purposely looks past the hospital, and the ice cream parlor just across the way that he’d sweet-talked Maribelle into letting him bring treats back from far too many times for the kids not to be spoiled by now. No, he wouldn’t think about of that, because he had work to do and people to provide for. So he quells the apprehension that moves restless in his stomach when he raps his knuckles across the door, but he couldn’t stop the loss of control over his emotions when he sees who answers.  
No.  
No.  
No.  
Libra couldn’t deal with this right now. He had just begun to put his life back together piece by piece. Libra could not allow them to steal away the one piece of happiness he had found with his makeshift family, wouldn’t allow them to be selfish and take, take, take all he could give again. His hand itched to cover up that scar on his neck, his recent haircut being the reason the scar was just a little bit visible. He knew the green eyes that answered the door, knew those green eyes knew exactly where that scar had come from, and felt the nausea thrashing in his stomach as the hands that gave him it reached to touch it again.  
  
“Riviera,” His mother murmured, and he cursed himself for praying for his parents to live. He couldn’t remember why he praised Naga for all of the terrible tragedies the goddess had given him. Couldn’t remember anything but those green eyes, so strikingly similar to his own. He often cursed them, cursing any connection he shared with those who had given him life and then left it up to fate, left him to die. And in that moment, he remembered. Remembered exactly the moment those hands were laid on him, and forgot every lesson the children taught of kindness and forgiveness, and the life Naga had saved despite the odds.  
  
“Away with you!” He felt the fury, the selfishness in his stomach burning with the feral desire to destroy and he roared. Libra had dedicated his life to being everything his parents weren’t. To give, instead of take, to heal, instead of destroy, to work, instead of steal. But it was sickening, he thought, to realize he could never escape his birthright, who he truly was. All of his life was leading up to this moment, to prove that he indeed was who he appeared to be, a devoted follower of Naga, and if this was his test surely he had failed. Indeed, all he’d done was prove he was exactly who he wished he wasn’t, exactly who he never wished to be. Libra stormed away, a frenzy of flame and ferocity, his feet carrying him to the place he wished to know again. It was the old tattoo parlor, and he was not alone. Naga must have truly wanted to test his loyalty this night, for there she was, candy pink hair and upon those beautiful lips a sad smile. Libra felt like a caged animal. No matter where he ran, there was always another test, another obstacle designed to lead to his inevitable downfall. His rational mind, having just reawakened, understood just to submit itself to whatever the goddess had planned for him tonight. Attempting to quell the wild look in his eyes, he approached the woman he knew had the ability- most ironically, in her hands- to fix or destroy him. Robin shivered, her eyes squeezed shut, feet firmly planted as if braced for a blow. Each step Libra took towards her seemed only to increase her fear, and he saw the internal struggle the ambivalent Robin fought, the courageous part of her holding her ground and the little Robin he’d only seen in photograph yearning to run. Libra sighed, a world-weary sound, and wrapped the scarf he’d been so afraid to remove around her neck, plopping his hat on her head as well. “Naga wouldn’t wish me to allow one of her angels to get sick, after all,” and his voice surprised him, surprisingly rich despite the scratchiness in his throat from the scream of before. She puffed her cheeks out, a playful thing, and ran to him, weakly slamming her fists into his chest, as tears soaked the thin sweatshirt he wore.  
  
“You absurd, asinine, selfless, forgiving fool,” she whispered to his chest, a punch punctuating her every word. She took in his bloodshot eyes, rimmed with dark puffy circles, his toned arms and baggy clothing. “Come home with me, Tharja and Henry worry for you and tell me you haven’t slept or eaten, merely worked until you collapsed, and now you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Libra supposed ghosts of the past surely counted to what she meant, and let himself be led to Robin’s apartment. One reassuring phone call later where he assured Henry and Tharja that yes he was fine, no he wasn’t abducted, and that they would bolt the doors when they decided to tuck in for the night, no later than midnight, he warned and was met with a snort from Robin and a groan that sounded suspiciously like “but dad!” from Tharja, did he find himself seated at a table covered in maps and books. “You could have picked a better day to stumble into my life again,” Robin grumbled, pulling out Tupperware from her refrigerator and haphazardly brushing her materials off the table. “I would have gone grocery shopping and actually cleaned this dusty old place for once, had I known.” Libra laughed then, a rumbling deep from his belly and asked why the hairdresser had such an abundance of maps and archaic tomes. “It’s a bit of an odd story,” She confessed, setting down a steaming bowl before him.  
“I’m a priest who owns a tattoo parlor who has lived and worked with Henry for the past couple of years. You’ll spare me, I’m sure, if I find it’s not the oddest story I’ve heard.” She giggled a little at that, and his stomach, once churning, seemed now to be occupied by the most playful butterflies.  
  
“If you insist,” Robin conceded with a flourish, and began to detail the odd series of events that had led her to this day. She was interested in military tactics, and had wanted to be a general. She met Tharja by pure chance, when searching for a roommate, and the normally surly older girl had taken to the younger one, and proceeded to take care of her even as Robin’s financial situation dwindled. To pay the bills, Robin had found a job in the hairdressing industry, and now was studying so she could go back to school again- an explanation, finally, for the dated tomes he’d always seen her reading around the parlor, but had never asked why. Upon her questioning, Libra found himself telling her of his story- of the children in the hospital, of his past, and of his parents that he’d seen merely hours but now felt like years ago. He’d fallen asleep in that chair, laughing at some ridiculous story Robin recounted involving Tharja manipulating this poor fellow Virion into all sorts of tasks, allegedly including bridge building, until she realized he was not under her spell, so to speak, but instead quite smitten with her. Future days found him sitting in that very same chair, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, some days soaking up the knowledge as she gushed on and on of a book she finished recently and some new strategy she’d never considered that could be adapted for modern use. Libra had returned to the hospital, and after a strict tongue lashing from Maribelle not to pull such a stunt again, alongside with hugs from all of the children, even little Gerome insisted his stuffed dragon (that he insisted was a wyvern. Libra wondered what kind of books the children were reading these days to cause these fascinations, but conceded to the boy’s claims all the same that the stuffed dragon truly did resemble a wyvern.) Minerva get a hug and kiss as well. Life returned to normal, save for the lack of tattooing in his life, and Libra once again grew content now that his true family was back together again. Libra still firmly decided against saving any money to reopen the tattoo parlor, and instead insisted on putting it all towards the college funds for Henry and Tharja, that were steadily growing. He was convinced no one, short of Naga at least, could make him reopen that tattoo parlor.  
  
Perhaps he had underestimated the sheer stubbornness of a certain pink haired soon-to-be general.  
  
“You can’t ask me to make the same mistake again.” Libra was shocked she would even think he’d consider reopening.  
  
“I can, but it’s going to be your decision if you continue to deny yourself life because someone thought you didn’t deserve it, or if you finally realize that you’re worth all the love the world can give you.” The book in her lap snaped shut and she’s slowly rising from the couch and moving towards him. “I know you love every child in that hospital. I know you love every person who walked through that tattoo parlor door, prayed for them all, just because you were thankful for them spending even an hour of their life with you. I know you love Henry and Tharja too.” He can feel her soft breaths ghosting his skin and sending shivers down his spine now. “I know, for all the pain and reopened wounds that I’ve caused, you’ve somehow managed to find love in your heart for me too. But what we can’t seem to get through your thick skull is that all the people that you love, love you back too.” She’s too close, way too close. Robin had laid her heart out on the table and that was terrible, terrible, because for all it’s worth Libra did love her and cherish her and wish he could spent his lazy nights sweeping being entertained by her stories and his mornings being woken up to her on the other side of the bed slumbering, but he knew if he even dared to dream he’d mess it up, let alone if he actually took action. Knew he’d wake up one morning, finally trusting her, only to realize that she’d finally realized how useless he was, how sad and selfish he could truly be. He’d much rather give up all the joy he could ever feel than ever risk getting too close and losing it. Libra wanted to run, truly. The many hours he’d devoted to manual labor didn’t go without return, and he knew he could break the loose grip of the fingers curled around his biceps with the ease of swatting a fly. Knew if she leaned in, he had the strength to shove her aside and make a quick getaway, but that strength could just as easily pin her wrists into place above her head with one hand. Ultimately, he chose neither of them. There would be a time and a place for the second option, and he one day intended on doing so, but during a conversation about opening a business that could potentially put the two artists that despite their similar age, he’d grown to think of as his children, spiraling down into debt was not the time, not to mention he’d never actually told Robin in words that he loved her. Pulling the searing fingertips off of his arms, he held her hands in his own, before bending down on one knee and kissing the back of those hands that had thrown him out of the stasis he’d been stuck in so long, trying to deny his past, and healed him, taught him to move forward he had to acknowledge the past but look to the future and the family he’d acquired over time for strength. Libra said none of this however, and merely eyed the hands in his own, imagining the design he could color them with, what art he could give to her to properly convey all of his gratitude. Scrutinizing that finger on her left hand, he already realized he had made his decision. But that would be for another day, he knew, and for today he would be content with her and the rest of his family being with him the entire way, while he decided to be selfish just one last time and give his tattoo parlor business one more chance.


End file.
